Poetry
Gateshead
Gateshead By the lazy bend of the Tyne’s dark water, Where the bridges hum like low‑tuned violins, The town awakens beneath a slate‑grey sky, Its chimneys puffing soft, steady sighs. The
Read more →Liken
To liken is to whisper a mirror’s soft sigh, To see a rose in the cheek of a dawn‑kissed sky, To hold two thoughts, like hands clasped in quiet accord, And find in
Read more →Institute
In the quiet cloisters of the Institute, Where minds are sharpened like a fine‑edged blade, Scholars labour over parchment and screen, Their thoughts a steady, unending cascade. The lecture theatre hums with
Read more →Latch
The Latch Upon the garden gate, a humble latch, A quiet keeper of the yard’s repose, It clicks with British grace, a modest catch That guards the blossoms where the sweet peas grows.
Read more →Easy peelers are Not the Only Fruit
Easy peelers are Not the Only Fruit They tell you life’s too short for pith, For skins that cling, or stones that grit, Just tear the tab, dispose the tray, While sunshine’s caught in
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